


The Beast of the Monastery

by BleedingPoppy



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Gen, Hallucinations, Not Beta Read, Post-Time Skip, allusions to other characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 10:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20673536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingPoppy/pseuds/BleedingPoppy
Summary: Despite what the rumors might say, the beast of the monastery was only a man. He has no claws, no sharp teeth to bare. The beast of the monastery is only a man living for the dead. They place a hand on the back of your throat and bring their mouth up to your ear and whisper.





	The Beast of the Monastery

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so it's been a while since I've written anything fanfiction related, but I was listening to ambient music with rain in the background so now this exists. I also wrote this instead of going to sleep, so that's nice. There might be some typos or weird sentences because of that, but I hope it all makes some sense. Well, I do hope you enjoy this mess of words. Takes place somewhere in between Dimitri's escape from his execution and Byleth's return.

It rained that day. It was a cold rain, the kind that left an impression on your skin and made you yearn for a hot bath - common place for this early in the year, and oddly soothing. Our sense of touch, our ability to feel discomfort and pain - it humanizes us, and is a sign that you’re alive. You can’t feel the hands of death wrap around your throat or his breath on the back of your neck, but if you can feel the frigid rain instead you can rest assured that he hasn’t caught up to you yet.

Rainy days tend to be quiet. Not in the sense that no one comes around to “visit”. It’s quite the opposite really. A storm is just the opportunity rats use to sneak around and avoid the beast who’s waiting to gobble them up. But even with his senses dampened the beast cannot be stopped. He strikes fast and without warning, revels in the pain of those that dare to encroach on his territory. With claws sharp enough to pierce armour and the strength of ten or more men, he’s become a local legend in the villages surrounding the former monastery, especially with the children. They take the rumors spread by their parents and turn it into a game. One child plays the role of the beast and “kill” whoever can’t sneak past or outrun them. They’re chastised by those that have seen what mangled lumps of flesh the beast leaves lying around for playing such morrib games, but who can blame them? There’s no fun to be had during a war.

The plants in the greenhouse had started to grow back. They were nothing like they used to be. With no one to nurture them, weeds began to take over the vegetable and flower patches. A beast’s hands aren’t meant to maintain life, only take it, and unfortunately, weeds do not offer a high nutritional value as it turns out. So they were left to flourish and overtake the area. The cold season ended their tyrannous reign, but spring has begun to bring it back. 

His footsteps were heavy against the tile floor of the church. The grimy sent of stagnant water had never bothered him, but it made him feel especially dirty that day. He dare not remove his armour, but oh how it hung heavy on his shoulders and suffocated his chest. The beast hadn’t gotten into a habit of praying to the goddess, knowing she wouldn’t spare someone like him any thought, but it today it seemed she wished to make her presence known to him. She scolded him, showed him the images of those who had been lost for his sake. Contrary to all the rumors, the beast hadn’t always been a monster. Like everyone, he had had a family, those whom he cared deeply for, those who died because he was too incompetent to save them.

“You remember their faces still, yes,” she’d ask. He’d nod, swallow the lump in his throat and wait for them to appear.

The images were fleeting, only lasting a moment. But their words echoed for long after. Over and over they’d play, reminding him of his failure, of the pain he caused them. Over and over, a failure, a monster, worthless, better off dead right beside them. Over and over, the sound of their screams unaffected by the cold rain smacking against the pews, over and over, their faces twisted in pain and fear invading the territory of his mind, over and over, hands that once cared for delicate plants now tarshined in blood for his own sake, over and over and over.

Despite what the rumors might say, the beast of the monastery was only a man. He has no claws, no sharp teeth to bare. The beast of the monastery is only a man living for the dead. The dead are loud in their suffering, but sometimes, they bring their voices to barely a whisper. They place a hand on the back of your throat and bring their mouth up to your ear. They made a proposal for the man. 

A life for a life.

Not his of course. He was already dead, so what did his life count as? Nothing, the dead decided. The man was merely paying his debts before it was his time to leave the world.

The life they demanded was that of the emperor, Edelgard von Hresvelg. Her life was all that was standing between the dead and peace. So, the man declared to the heavens that he’d get the revenge the dead wanted.

* * *

Late that night, when all was quiet and rain had let up, three pairs of small feet climbed the stairs of the monastery. Leading the pack was the bravest of them. He wasn’t more than ten, and carried a rusty spear that was much too large for his small frame. Besides him his friend held a wooden play sword in one hand and a pot lid in the other. And last following close behind them was the smallest of the three, no doubt dragged along against his will. He was empty handed, save for a torch used to light the way. Couldn’t have them tripping over rubble on their way to slay a beast.

The man sat with his cape pulled around him to block out the cold nighttime winds. He was far too exhausted to care about the doings of mere children. Sleep didn’t come easy these days after all. Better to let them wander, get bored and leave than waste energy on chasing them out. It was when he heard the fourth pair of steps that he arose from his sitting state. 

“Just you watch, I’ll slay him for real!” The child with the lance raised it above his head, grinning ear to ear. “And when I do, papa won’t have to worry any more!” 

The others nodded vigorously. With no beast guarding the old building, everyone would be free to explore it once again. Their papa told stories of the beauty and elegance of what the monastery looked like before the war. He had even said of how it held treasures never seen before. If they could just get rid of the beast…

The man followed them from behind. He hadn’t made a sound, though he doubted they could hear anything over their own excitement. The pillars made for decent cover, as did the blending of his dark armour and shadows. The trio barely made it past the entry hall when the fourth pair of steps came into the moonlight. They looked frightened at first, weapons held loosely at the ready. The man held his lance tight along with them. It was a common thief. Perhaps it would be wrong to kill in front of children, but the man had made a promise to himself to end those that took advantage of the weak. Even if it was just one man, he wouldn’t let anyone with ill intentions leave his sight with their life. He readied himself to strike, waiting for the right moment to hurled his lance into the thieves abdomen. But then something strange happened that made him hesitate.

The children dropped their toys and ran to the thief, wrapping themselves around their legs. The man felt his breath hitch and heart pound as he processed the situation. A thief, a rat showing compassion for another living being. An impossibility playing out in front of his eyes. They could stay no longer, he decided, and stepped from the shadows.

“Leave.”

The word was low in his chest and struggled to pass through his under used vocal cords. Both thief and children tensed under the beast’s eyes, unable to move or speak. He took a step forwards.

“Leave,” he said again, “or you’ll end up like the rest of the corpses here.”

Something cracked underneath his foot - the rusted spear the first child had been carrying. Slowly he bent down and lifted it from the ground. It was in no condition to be used to kill a small rabbit, let alone a beast. It was the kind of lance he had used to fight when he was an adolescent. Back when the professor only had the funds to buy used weapons that had already begun to rust by the time they made it into the hands of the students. “The one who wins a fight isn’t the one with the better weapon, it’s the one who knows how to use their weapon the best,” they’d say to the class. 

Scoffing, he tossed it in the direction of the thief.

“Tell your kid that if he wants to slay a monster, he’ll need the right weapon to do so.”

The turned to head back deeper into the monastery. He didn’t bother to check if they really did leave or not.

“Tell me, would you really murder three children,” the thief spoke up. The man didn’t look back. “Three innocent children. Could you really live with yourself? Or are you really just a beast like all the stories say?”

“It matters not what you call a dead soul. Man or beast, it has no bearing on my fate. Now, go. And tell your friends to stay away if they value their lives. If I see any of your kind around here again, I won’t be so merciful.”

* * *

It wasn’t quiet when the sun rose. The dead had been awake all night, with only one question for the man.

“When will we get our revenge, Dimitri?”

The man had no answer to give, only silent confirmation that he understood. 


End file.
